Servitude

I washed my face quickly and went upstairs. I checked that everything was clean so as not to be criticized excessively. Then I started on breakfast so that it would be ready on time. I had put on an apron and was busy as best I could, my red hair fluttering in the breeze to the music my mind began to hum.

Before I could react, a man's hand bent me over, and a penis penetrated me without further adieu. I cried out in fear; I was about to struggle.

• Shut up, little fool, you shouldn't have provoked me like this. It was my father's voice. His hand sank into my red hair, wrapping it around his fingers like copper snakes, pulling my head back. I felt his hot breath against my neck, the pungent smell of his aftershave mingling with that of sweat. My body stiffened under the brutal intrusion, every muscle tense like a rope ready to snap. His fingers in my hair pinned me to the spot, the sharp pain radiating to my temples. Hot tears overflowed, drawing furrows down my cheeks as his pace quickened, the cotton apron rubbing cruelly against my skin with each thrust.
• Hmm, you're tight, I should take you unannounced more often.

He began to quicken his pace, my pubic bone hitting the edge of the sink in time with his thrusts, as he began to roughly knead my breasts, but I couldn't hold back a moan of delight.

I felt his breath hitch against the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my flesh like claws. The cold metal of the sink bruised my hips with each jerky movement, the pain mingling strangely with the treacherous pleasure rising within me.

"Look at yourself," he growled, forcing my head toward the steamy mirror, where my flushed face was reflected, my mouth half-open, my eyes flooded with shameful desire.

I closed my eyes to escape my own reflection, but he gripped my hair tighter, forcing me to see. "Open them, bitch. Look how you give yourself." His raspy voice echoed against my ear as his hips slammed against my ass, each impact making my legs tremble.

The heat inside me rose, indecent, treacherous, despite the shame burning my cheeks. I gasped from the thrusts that took my breath away, but also from the pleasure and satisfaction of receiving the treatment that had populated my fantasies until now; it was the fulfillment of my most taboo desires.

I felt his nails dig into my hips, marking my skin with purple crescents as a hoarse groan escaped him. The sink vibrated against my stomach, the faucet dripping in obscene sync with our gasps.

Slam.

One last thrust that threw me against the icy metal, his breath coming out in a wet rasp against my shoulder, as I felt his cum spread inside me in a sweet, viscous heat.

Without further ado, leaving me unsatisfied, he put his penis back in his pajamas, saying to me:

• Finish what you have to do and get into the submissive position. When I come back, you'd better have everything ready and you ready, especially if your mother arrives before me.